


Surprise

by giantteenwolforgy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Coming Out, Dean Winchester's Birthday, Fix-It, Love Confessions, M/M, Post-Episode: s15e19 Inherit the Earth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-16 15:48:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28958958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/giantteenwolforgy/pseuds/giantteenwolforgy
Summary: For the first time in 42 years, Dean wakes up on his birthday and feels different.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 19
Kudos: 180





	Surprise

**Author's Note:**

> I post updates and more writing on my tumblr: [alwaysagaything](https://alwaysagaything.tumblr.com/).

For the first time in his life, Dean wakes up on his birthday and feels different.

There’s an itch beneath his skin, a feeling that something needs to change. Or that maybe something already has.

_Let me be_ , the thing inside him whispers. _Let me be. Let me be._

He’s never subscribed to the idea that a day could make much difference. Your birthday is no different from the day before it. You still have to deal with all the shit life throws at you. Just because you’re officially older doesn’t mean you’re wiser or more well-adjusted or more equipped to handle it.

But now he’s officially 42 and something _is_ different. He feels—

Miracle jumps up on the bed, panting happily and nosing at his chin. Dean startles, but gathers her in for a cuddle anyway, scratching gently behind her ears.

“Hey,” he says, rubbing his cheek along her fur. “Did you come to say happy birthday? Who let you in?”

His door is closed again, but someone must have opened it for Miracle, because he knows she went to sleep on Sam’s bed last night like a _traitor_.

A whiff of coffee hits his nose and he glances over at his nightstand, surprised to see a steaming mug resting there innocently. He lets go of Miracle, but she doesn’t go far, pausing only to shake out her fur and settle back down into the warmth of his blankets. Dean blinks at the mug. There’s a little note resting next to it, with careful, too-even letters spelling out DEAN.

Cas, then.

Something inside of him throbs threateningly as he sits up. Probably his ribs. They’re still bruised from where the Empty threw him around like a ragdoll, but most of the time he’s grateful for the pain. It reminds him that it happened. That Cas is back with them because they _fought_ to get him back. Not just because some dickhead writer decided it would make the most interesting storyline.

He ignores the coffee in favor of the note, plucking it up delicately and unfolding it the way one might defuse a bomb.

_Dean,_

_There are no adequate words in the English language to describe exactly how thankful I am to be here celebrating with you. I am proud to call you my closest friend. You do everything for others, but I hope today you will allow others to do something special for you. You deserve it._

_Happy Birthday._

_Cas_

Dean rereads the words, aware that the feeling he woke up with is growing stronger. Almost painful. This ain’t his half-healed ribs. This is his heart, beating against the bars of its cage, begging for him to listen to it.

He buries one of his hands in Miracle’s fur, sucking in a too sharp breath. He feels like he’s shaking apart, but she just blinks up at him calmly. Having her steady presence here is grounding a little bit. Enough that he can relax his grip after a moment or two. He goes back to petting her. He doesn’t know whether it’s more soothing for her or for him.

_Let me be. Let me be. Let me be happy._

“I hear you,” he says aloud. To Miracle. To himself. To the fucking universe, maybe. It only took him 42 years, but he’s listening. “I hear you.”

***

Cas and Sam are talking quietly about something at the table, though they stop immediately when Dean comes into the kitchen.

“Hey,” Sam says with a grin. “You’re finally up! Happy birthday, man.”

“Thanks,” Dean says. Most of the time he’s almost afraid to look at Cas, but today his eyes are drawn to him helplessly. He’s in sweats and an old band t-shirt of Dean’s because he sleeps now. There’s still the ghost of a bruise on his cheek because he can’t heal anymore. “And thanks for the coffee, Cas.” _And the note._

Cas smiles softly. “You’re welcome. Happy Birthday.”

“Yeah. So, what’s for breakfast?” he asks brightly, desperate for a subject change.

“Breakfast?” Sam snorts. “It’s practically lunchtime now.”

“Sue me,” he gripes. “Thought it was my _birthday_.” He makes his way to the fridge, his mouth sagging when he pulls it open to find it _packed_ full of food. “Jesus Christ, are we feeding an army?”

“We’re feeding _you_ ,” Sam says dryly. “We might as well be.”

“Dean,” Cas interrupts, before Dean can think of a good enough retort. “Don’t cook. We should go out and celebrate. Let's go to lunch."

Dean shrugs, letting the fridge swing shut, and trying not to show how pleased he is at that suggestion. He deserves to celebrate, dammit. Somehow, he made it to 42. That deserves more than a perfunctory _Happy Birthday_ and a pat on the back. “Okay.”

***

Dean gets dressed in record time, already dreaming about the big, juicy cheeseburger he’s going to shove in his mouth. Food always tastes so much better when someone else makes it. Miracle watches him pull his boots on forlornly, like she knows exactly where he’s going.

“Don’t worry,” he tells her. “We’ll bring you some leftovers.”

When he gets out to the war room, Cas is already waiting on him. He’s in a flannel and jeans, but he has the trench coat on too. It's the first time he’s worn it since they dragged him back from the Empty, bruised and human. The first time Dean’s seen it since that terrible night in the dungeon when Cas had looked at him like that and said, _I love you_. 

“Hey,” Dean says, around the sudden tightness in his throat. “Where’s Sam?”

“Oh.” Cas sounds apologetic. “I thought you knew it would just be us.”

Dean’s brain trips over itself and he swallows reflexively. Excitement and dread spike within him in equal measure. “Sam’s not coming?”

“I could…” Cas’ mouth twists and he looks away. “I could ask him to come if you’d be more comfortable with him.”

It’s the closest they’ve ever gotten to acknowledging the fucking huge elephant in the room. Cas is looking out of the corner of his eye at him, like he's not sure Dean wants to spend time with him anymore. It makes Dean feel sick. It's only been a week since Cas has been back, and Dean has spent the whole time existing in a haze of disbelief and quiet panic. He'd been so obsessed with actually getting Cas back, that he never stopped to prepare himself for what it would be like once they did. _You deserve it,_ Cas had written. But Dean doesn’t. Not with the way he’s been acting.

“No,” Dean says. “It’s alright. Let’s go.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m 42,” Dean scoffs. “Of course, I’m sure.” He jerks his head at Cas. “Come on.”

Cas is wearing a tiny smile as he follows Dean down into the garage. “Don’t tell Sam I told you, but he’s going to bake you a cake while we’re gone. That’s why he’s not coming.”

Dean frowns. “He doesn’t have to do that.”

“He wants to,” Cas says. “You should let him do something nice for you.”

Dean freezes so suddenly that Cas bumps into the back of him. “Jesus Christ,” he says. “I’m gonna kill him.”

Baby is parked in her usual spot, but she has bright pink window paint scrawled all over. _42_ Is written on all four windows and the back windshield exuberantly says, _HONK to say HAPPY B-DAY!_

***

Dean scowls through the first ten minutes of their drive, Cas trying and failing to hide the amused smile on his face.

Someone honks behind them and Cas full-on laughs at the look on Dean’s face.

“It’s your birthday, Dean,” he says fondly. Too fondly. “Let yourself be happy.”

“I’m happy,” Dean says immediately. It’s not really true. He clears his throat. “I’m trying to be.”

He can see Cas staring at him out of the corner of his eye, but Dean keeps his eyes on the road.

“Good,” Cas finally says. “That’s good.”

“You deserve to be happy too,” Dean tells him, the words tumbling out without his permission. “I want you to be happy.”

“I _am_ happy, Dean.”

Dean remembers Cas staring at him. Smiling like he was relieved. Like a weight had been lifted off his chest. _Happiness is in just saying it._

Could it be that easy? He thinks about it all the way to the burger joint. Thinks about it as they’re walking inside and he unconsciously holds the door for Cas. Cas sends him a quick, appreciative smile, eyes crinkling at the corners.

_Let me be happy. I want to be happy._

Dean’s mouth feels stuck shut. He only opens it to order a bacon cheeseburger and a beer. Cas is texting on his phone, oblivious to Dean’s sudden bout of paralysis. _Pathetic_ , he thinks.

Their food comes and they eat quietly, Cas slipping away to go to the bathroom. When he returns, he asks: “So, what are you going to do now that you’re 42?”

Dean takes a long gulp of his beer. _What am I going to do?_ “I don’t know,” he says, like a coward. He grits his teeth. “I woke up feeling weird.”

“Weird?”

“ _Different_. I don't know how to describe it.”

Cas cocks his head, eyes staring at Dean like he used to. Like he’s trying to see into him. “Because you’re another year older?”

“No. I don’t know. Most birthdays just feel like another day, you know?”

“No,” Cas says. “Not really. But I suppose I’ll find out.”

The reminder that Cas is human now, that he’ll age and grow older and have birthdays like the rest of them sends a bolt of panic surging through Dean. Fuck. What the hell is he waiting for? They’ve already wasted so much time and Dean’s wasting more? How many years do they have left? 40? 30? _20?_ His hand clenches around his glass.

“Maybe you feel different because this birthday _is_ different,” Cas muses. “Think about it. Chuck is gone. You have no more apocalypses to defeat. No more strings being pulled. I wasn’t exaggerating when I wrote that you do everything for others. Maybe your soul is ready to do something for itself.”

“My _soul_?” Dean repeats. “Can souls even _want_ things?”

“Of course they can,” Cas says. “Your soul wants everything you want. And it wants everything you pretend not to."

That feeling he woke up with—his fucking _soul_ apparently— roars to life again, louder and stronger than before. Dean stares at Cas, shocked silent. 

Cas' gaze turns quizzical, the longer Dean looks at him. He sets his cheeseburger down on his plate. "How are you, Dean? We haven't really...talked since I've been back."

“Yeah,” he chokes out, ducking his head. His stomach is knotted with nerves. "Sorry about that. I haven't been sure what to say."

"You don't need to say anything," Cas assures him immediately.

"I know. But maybe I _want_ to."

Cas stares at him, trying to parse Dean’s meaning. He looks like he wants to ask _. If he asks, I’ll tell him,_ Dean decides, something wild unfurling within him. _I will, I’ll say it—_

“Apple pie for the birthday boy,” the waitress chirps, setting a plate down in front of him. Cas looks like he’s torn between thanking her and yelling at her.

Dean stares at the plate in front of him in confusion, before sending a half-hearted glare Cas’ way.

“You did this,” he accuses.

“Yes,” Cas admits. “When I went to the bathroom. I can assure you that I genuinely regret it now.” There’s a desperate quality in his voice. Maybe he wants to continue their conversation just as badly as Dean does.

But then the waitress leads the restaurant in a rousing round of Happy Birthday and Dean sinks down in his seat blushing to the tips of his hair. Cas smiles at him like he’s charmed by Dean’s sullenness and then the waitress leaves with a wink, and Cas is back to staring at his phone.

Dean eats the pie as slowly as he can, trying to play for time. 

“We should get back,” Cas eventually sighs, sliding his phone into his pocket. He looks at Dean expectantly.

“Oh,” Dean says—heart in his throat; soul howling. “Okay.”

_I'll tell him_ , he promises. _I'll tell him._

***

Dean drives home with one eye on the road and one eye on Cas. He’s texting someone again and Dean is tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. _Maybe I should just tell him now,_ he thinks. And then just as quickly _: No_.

Dean should do it somewhere more special. Not in his car when it has hot pink window paint smeared all over it. But then again, what does it matter? Cas said his piece in a dungeon while Death herself was banging at the door. That wasn’t exactly roses and candlelight.

By the time they pull into the garage, Dean has waffled back and forth so many times that he’s lost track of the argument he was having with himself. He just wants.

“Come on,” Cas says, climbing out of the car. “Let’s go inside.”

“Cas, wait—” Dean tries, but Cas is already slamming the door and heading inside. Fuck. He has a sudden, sick feeling that if he doesn’t say something now, he’s never going to say it. That he'll miss the moment for good. That tomorrow he'll wake up and his soul will be quiet again. He presses a hand to his chest.

_Let me be. Let me speak. Let me be happy._

“Here goes nothing,” he mutters. He heaves himself out of the car and jogs after Cas.

“Cas, wait up,” he says. “I need to tell you something.”

“What is it?” Cas seems distracted, still looking at his phone. The burst of annoyance makes Dean even more determined to do it. To finally say it. To be happy.

Cas pushes open the door that leads into the bunker, but he grabs Cas’s hand before he can get too far inside. “Cas, _stop_. This is important.”

Cas does stop. He turns to look at Dean, eyebrows creased. It’s all shadowy and dark in the bunker, like Sam’s on one of his energy-saving kicks even though Dean’s pretty sure the bunker is powered more by magic than nonrenewable energy. His licks his lips, screws up all his nerves.

“Cas, I should’ve told you this as soon as we got you back. But I wasn't sure how to—”

“Dean, wait—” Cas interrupts, eyes widening in understanding. He looks behind him into the bunker, like he’s looking for a way out _. It doesn’t matter,_ Dean thinks stubbornly. Even if he's changed his mind, Cas deserves to hear it. Dean deserves to say it. But— “Wait,” Cas says again, sounding panicked. “Just—"

“Don’t ask me to wait,” Dean begs. “I didn’t ask _you_ to wait.”

“Dean—”

The lights flash on, blinding Dean, and a chorus of uncoordinated, haphazard voices yell out: “SURPRISE!!”

Dean does what any semi-retired hunter would do when faced with a surprise party. He pushes Cas behind him and fumbles for a gun that isn't there. 

Through his haze of confusion, Dean sees people all over the place, laughing and cheering. Eileen. Jack. Jody and Donna. Charlie. Bobby. Claire. Kaia. Alex. Patience. Garth. _This_ is why Cas was on his phone all day. And why Sam didn’t come with them to lunch.

And why Cas was trying to stop him? Trying to spare him from baring his soul in front of all of these people? 

There are balloons tied onto the staircase banister and a big cheerful banner that reads HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DEAN! Someone’s put a party hat on Miracle. Most of the booze and the snacks that were in the fridge are out on the war room table now.

"You guys threw me a surprise party?" Dean asks weakly. 

Cas nods, looking wretched. "I'm so sorry, Dean," he whispers in a rush, as Sam starts to jog over. "I would never ask you not to--I just didn't want you to regret saying anything in front of all these people--"

Cas' mouth snaps shut when Sam gets close enough to overhear. Dean feels an ache inside of him. _I wouldn't regret it, Cas. I wouldn't._

“Ha!” his brother crows. "You should have seen your _face_!"

His eyes flick uncertainly down to where Dean is still clinging onto Cas’ hand. Cas moves to drop his hand, but Dean tightens his grip unconsciously.

"You guys have the worst timing," Dean decides. "Seriously."

There are a few laughs and rolls of eyes. "Aw," Claire teases. "Did we interrupt a _moment_?"

Suddenly that feeling Dean's had swirling inside of him all day rears up, like a wave crashing over him. He's overcome with the urge to say it.

He shouldn't. He _shouldn't_. He can play it off, like always.

His heart throbs wildly in his chest, like it's disagreeing. 

_Let me be. Let me be happy. Let me be seen._

Fuck it. He's 42 years old. It's time to be honest.

"Actually, yeah," Dean says. Cas' eyes widen in his peripherals. " _Surprise_. I've been trying to tell Cas how I feel all day, and right as I get up the fucking courage, all of you clowns interrupt. So just. Shut up for a second while I tell Cas how much I love him."

He doesn't quite nail the blasé tone he's going for; his voice is too shaky and all over the place for that. But he gets the words out. Sam's eyebrows fly up his forehead and Garth starts choking on a tortilla chip. Charlie has her hands clasped breathlessly at her mouth.

Claire's actually looking a little guilty for calling him out, even though she shouldn't. Dean feels great. A little weak with relief, but lighter than he has in _years_.

When he finally looks at Cas again, his expression has transformed into something awed and hopeful. "Dean, you didn't have to do that."

"I _wanted_ to," he says. "You told me happiness is in just saying it. Well I fucking love you, Cas. And I'm ready to--I want to be happy. With you. They would've found out sooner or later."

Dean's blushing so hard. He can feel his whole face turning red. He thinks Garth is crying into the salsa now. 

"So," he says awkwardly when Cas just continues to stare at him like he hung the moon. "How'd I do? I know it wasn't as eloquent as your big speech, but--"

Cas cuts him off with a hard kiss, fingers twisted in Dean's flannel shirt. Someone that sounds suspiciously like Jack cheers and Garth breaks down into another round of sobs. Dean ignores them all and wraps his arms around Cas, gentling the kiss to something soft and tender. 

"Uh," Sam coughs after a moment. Dean can _hear_ the shit-eating grin on his face. "You guys want us to give you a minute alone, or...?"

Dean flips Sam off without breaking away from Cas. 

He's waited 42 years for this.

He's not waiting for a minute alone. He's not waiting anymore.


End file.
